


Five Times, Green Eyes

by OkLumi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Drarry, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 10:26:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18519544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OkLumi/pseuds/OkLumi
Summary: Draco is obsessed with numbers. And a certain pair of green eyes.





	Five Times, Green Eyes

The first time he saw him was at a ministry ball. Well, the first time since school anyway.  
He looked different from how he did in the photographs, he remembered thinking. More alive. More intense. There was more depth to him, in a way. His hair seemed darker, his body stronger, his eyes brighter.  
Those eyes.  
They still had the same effect on him. He just couldn’t stop staring. Can you blame him, really? They really were phenomenal. Greener than the grass on the other side of the fence, brighter than Sirius at night.  
But whenever they met his, he was forced to look away. He knew his own eyes were expressive, too expressive, and he knew that whatever it was he felt, the green eyes would not reflect it. It was the shame, too, of course. Those eyes knew close to everything he had ever done wrong in his life, the only one except himself that knew of it all. He looked away, he simply couldn’t bear seeing hate in those eyes too. Because if he saw hate in the green eyes it would be justified. The others hated him from what they had heard about him. Hated his name, his family, his background. But they didn’t know what he had done – unlike those green eyes.  
If he saw hate in them, too, what was left to live for?  
They were looking at him. He could feel it. Every few minutes, he would catch a glimpse of green, and then his skin started burning.  
He wanted to look at them. He really did. But it was too much, too painful, too scary, so he didn’t. Instead, he found his own shoes to look at. He had polished them himself, for three hours exactly. Never four, four was a bad number, but sometimes two if he was busy.  
Nevertheless. He looked at his shoes for as long as one does before shoes get boring. Then he looked at the shoes of other people. That was much more interesting. He had always thought that the shoes someone wears tell you as much as you need to know about them.  
He had counted twenty-eight people – fifty-six shoes – before he was interrupted. He would have preferred thirty-five, but twenty-eight was not a bad number, either.  
“Find the floor interesting, Malfoy?”  
His voice had dropped significantly since school. Oh, but of course it had.  
“Not really. Just the shoes.”  
“Ah. My bad.”  
“No problem,” he muttered to the shoes next to him. They were boots; well worn, but far from falling apart. Comfortable, warm, strong and good in battle. Polished, yet a bit of dirt on them. Much like Potter himself, then. He’d been right again.  
“I can’t say I expected to see you here,” Potter continued, “it was quite the shock when I spotted your hair. No one does have hair quite like yours, you know.”  
“I could say the same to you.”  
Potter laughed, and of course it was a pleasant laugh.  
“Would you like to dance?”  
It caught him off guard more than he’d like to admit, but he thought he managed to answer fairly quickly.  
“As long as you have improved since our fourth year. You really were terrible.”  
He laughed again. It was warmer this time.  
“Don’t worry, I have.”

He had improved. He had improved so much that Draco let Potter drag him behind some curtains and kiss him afterwards.  
He was good at that too, and Draco was not surprised.  
*  
The second time he saw him - since school, that is - was at the Ministry. Potter and his team of aurors were in a hurry, it seemed, but he still managed to grab Draco’s arm and pull him aside.  
“Hi! Lunch at twelve?”  
“Sure,” Draco said with a smile almost as wide as Potter’s.  
It was a miracle they hadn’t seen each other before, he thought. Perhaps they just hadn’t been looking.  
“I know a place, unless you had somewhere in mind?”  
Potter didn’t have a place in mind, apparently, so he agreed to meet at the bakery nearby.  
Draco didn’t get lunch breaks, so he took the day off instead. It was worth every second.  
*  
The third time was at a pub. Potter hadn’t invited him, per say, but the casual mention of the place during lunch had made him curious.  
When he arrived, he instantly saw the green eyes by the bar. He didn’t walk up to them immediately, though. He was curious indeed; the place was not a magical one, and for once he could lift his gaze without getting spat at.  
He could see why Potter liked it. The colours were warm and cosy, the lights comfortably dimmed, and people were not too loud.  
And there were seven bar stools. Brilliant.  
“Hi there, you’re quite something. Can I get you a drink?”  
Draco jumped slightly. He knew it wasn’t a gay bar, yet the voice was unmistakably male. Perhaps it wasn’t a big issue in the Muggle world, then – no one around them seemed to mind. He tried smiling back, but he knew it wasn’t a particularly good attempt. He wasn’t good at smiling. He wasn’t good at looking people in the eye, either. The man must think he was a total git.  
“Sorry, I’m seeing someone.”  
He looked up briefly. The man simply smiled back.  
“Shame. Well, they’re lucky, whoever it is. Have a nice day.”  
He looked at the man for some time. He walked over to a group of people, presumably his friends, and Draco wondered for a moment just how easy life could have been had things been different.  
A hand sliding around his waist brought his attention back to Earth. He knew who it belonged to before the owner spoke.  
“He’s right. I am lucky, don’t you think?”  
He leaned in to the touch before he could stop to think about it.  
“Oh, really? I think every other person alive would say I’m the lucky one. Me included.”  
Potter laughed again. It was a rather addictive laugh, Draco decided.  
He didn’t usually drink at all, but he let Potter buy him two drinks that evening. If he was honest with himself, it was mainly because he would have to pay back, which of course meant they had to meet again.  
Potter pulled him in for a hug just before he left. Draco didn’t think he noticed when he slid a small slip of paper into his pocket.  
There were eight numbers on it. It was a good number of numbers.  
*  
Draco was worried about how the fourth time would go. He didn’t live in fours; the number simply didn’t work for him.  
Except it did, this time.  
They only had one drink each. It was a Friday night, and the pub was crowded and loud. Perhaps that’s why Potter leaned so close when he spoke. Perhaps that’s why he invited Draco home. Whatever the reason was, Potter grabbed his hand and apparated to his place once they’d hid in a dark corner.  
It was very nice. He’d been afraid Potter just wanted some action, but they ended up talking for hours, about nothing and everything all at once. They fell asleep on his bed after Potter had said he’d always thought it was too large for just himself.  
When Draco woke up, he found two bright green emeralds looking at him fondly, offering him breakfast.  
By the time Draco left, Potter had become Harry, somehow.  
Things were different.  
*  
Five was perhaps his favourite number. It was stable and safe and reliable. Balanced, unlike four, which he felt like had a large gap between the two twos.  
And it was five words that changed his life forever. It was only fitting, Draco thought, even if one of the words was his name and kind of didn’t count.  
He forgot to count the seconds before he answered. He found he didn’t really care.  
He said yes, of course. How could he not?


End file.
